Collected Short Fiction, page 54
I was relieved at that. After all, so what if I’d overdosed them? Rejuvenol, up to now, had been used on people in their seventies and eighties, and it seemed only logical that men and women who dated their ages in thousands of years would need a stronger dose to achieve the same effect. So I wasn’t worried.
But the outbreak of violent cries of anger continued, coming in chorus from all twelve, and I began to see that I’d done something terribly wrong. It became more apparent, as the character of the cries changed from roars of anger to high-pitched, wordless whines.
In a couple of hours, the transformation was complete, and I looked at the product of my handiwork: twelve naked, squalling babies!
I was responsible for this, and it was my duty now to help them and care for them.
That was five years ago, and they’re growing up into nice little toddlers now. I didn’t dare leave them and go back to 2075 for help, out of fear that they’d lock me up and put me away; I couldn’t risk that, not with twelve helpless babies to take care of!
So I’ve stayed here, stranded ten million years in the future, waiting for these kids to grow up. Luckily, the Vault of the Ages had some diapers and such things preserved in its all-embracing collections.
I figure another five years and it’ll be safe to leave the kids to rebuild society on their own. And then I’ll go back to 2075, and won’t they be surprised when I come out of that machine fifteen years older than when I went in!
In the meantime, I’m stuck here—nursemaid and babysitter for the last men on Earth! THE END
Look Homeword, Spaceman
Fine thing! When a man spends six long gears away from his hearthside—roaming the far reaches of outer space—and then returns home to find that even his mother didn’t know he’d gone beyond the front gate!
I GUESS this is the street,Paul thought. I’m back. It annoyed him that after six years in space he was no longer quite sure where his home was.
But this was the street, all right; the memories came flooding back. He remembered the houses of mottle-colored stone, the cracked and gnarled sidewalk, and the scraggly sycamore tree that marked his home. Not even the dawn of the space age had troubled the tree; it was still planted there firmly, leaning out at a crazy angle, with chunks of bark flaking off its side.
A pretty girl came around the corner. She was wearing softly-glowing translucent slacks, and with her was a big old Dalmatian at the end of a radioleash.
“Hi, Paul,” she said, smiling.
“Hello,” he said uncertainly.
He wondered how she knew him. She didn’t look like much past seventeen, and so she could only have been eleven or so when he had gone away. Yet she recognized him at once.
He frowned and reached back into his memory. The Dalmatian might be the old Reilly dog, he thought. And then the girl would be Nancy Reilly. He turned for another look at the girl’s retreating figured, and chuckled. She had been just a scrawny kid playing jumprope when he left.
Paul approached his house, and noted with amusement that the old woman who lived next door was still rocking on her porch, looking placidly out at nothing particular.
“Hello, Paul,” she said, as he came close. “Nice weather, isn’t it?”
Shocked, he mumbled slowly, “It certainly is,” and started up the steps. He didn’t even remember her name—but she knew him! Something was crazy here. How had all his memories escaped him?
He mounted the familiar steps. One, two, three (slightly cracked), four, five (somewhat warped), six. The old doormat was still there.
He shuffled his feet on the doormat, as he had been taught to do long years before, and, straightening his hair, squaring his shoulders, clearing his throat, he rang the bell. He waited.
He heard the sound of someone coming to open the door. Would it be his mother or his brother? he wondered. Probably his brother Jim, he decided; Mother most likely wasn’t getting around too much any more. Once more he practiced the firm handshake he had been preparing for his brother. I’ll old Jim by the hand and squeeze till he yells.
“Who’s there?” called a masculine voice.
“Me. Paul. I’ve come back for a furlough.”
Slowly the door opened.
Horrorstricken, Paul stared at the man who had opened the door, and the man inside calmly returned the glance. They stood there, frozen, looking at each other.
He was looking at himself.
Not quite himself, he decided, once the initial shock had worn off. It was a younger version of himself at the door, with narrower shoulders, a paler face (Paul was proud of his heavy space-tan). The livid white scar across Paul’s forehead did not mark the brow of the other man. He was shorter, softer-looking.
“Who are you?” said the man inside the door. His voice is gentler than mine, Paul thought. He was still stunned, blankly uncomprehending. It was insane, unreal.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said tightly. He started to move inside the house, but the other Paul moved the door closed an inch Or two with an imperceptible gesture.
“I’m Paul Robinson,” Paul said. “I used to live here. I’ve been in space six years, but now I’m home. Suppose you tell me, now, what in hell’s going on?”
“Pardon me,” the other Paul said softly. “I’m Paul Robinson. And I’ve never been away at all. Now please go away before you disturb my mother.”
“Your mother?” Paul gasped. “I don’t know what kind of joke this is, but I’ve had enough of it. Get out of the way.” He started to push his way past the other Paul into the house.
“Gently, kid,” said a quiet voice from within. Paul stopped. This was a voice he did recognize. “Don’t make a scene.”
“Jim,” he said. “Jim!” He turned, anxious to be near someone he knew. So far this innocent return to his home had held more terrors than his entire tour of space.
He rushed to greet his older brother, but Jim dodged around him and went to the other Paul. With a swift, sudden motion Jim touched his hand to the other Paul’s back, and the other Paul stiffened in mid-stride.
“A robot!” Paul said, astonished. “A robot copy of me!”
“Yes,” said Jim, going to Paul for the first time. Paul looked at his older brother—the older brother he had grown up with, worshipped, fought with, finally left behind when the call to space came. He seized Jim’s hand and shook hard.
Jim’s grip wasn’t what it had been. He winced and tried to struggle free, but Paul clamped tighter and tighter, glorying in his new strength.
“Uncle!” Jim cried. “Uncle!”
“At last,” Paul said. He relaxed his grip and smiled broadly. “At long last I’ve made you yell Uncle, Jim.”
Jim shrugged. “The younger generation always wins eventually, Paul. I’m afraid space has made a man out of you. How long are you going to be home?”
“I have a two-day leave,” Paul said, staring strangely at the still-unexplained robot. “Then we ship out again on the Rigel run. The great wheel of interstellar commerce has decided it can dispense with this particular cog for two days.”
Jim was no longer the powerful giant of Paul’s memories. He had become stooped in six years, so he was no longer as tall as Paul, and his forehead was higher. And there was a loneliness in his eyes that hit Paul hard. Jim had wanted so badly to go to space—but they had, long before, decided that only one of them could go, so their mother wouldn’t be left alone. Everyone thought it would be Jim to go—but Jim had waited for Paul to grow up so they could take the test together, and by then Jim’s reflexes weren’t what they had once been. Paul had easily outscored him.
Jim had stayed here, with his mother. Just the two of them in the old and dingy house, with the twentieth-century furniture and the old-style appliances and the ancient sycamore tree, while Paul had been to Deneb, Porcyon and the myriad other bright stars. He had thought of Jim occasionally, out in the star’s, wondering how Jim was managing to fill in the lonely, empty circle of his days. The years had been hard on Jim.
“I’m having a friend drop in tomorrow for dinner before we go back to ship—Jack Fenner, he’s my bunkmate on ship. But say—” he turned to where the robot was standing frozen in the shadows, a word caught on its plastic lips. “Tell me what that thing is doing here. It was a nightmare to find myself answering the door.”
Jim chuckled hollowly. “I bought him right after you left. It was pretty rough for a while, Paul: mother missed you terribly the first week. She became ill worrying about you.”
“There was nothing about it in her letters,” Paul said.
“Of course not. We’d never tell you. I wrote a lot of those letters myself. She was so sick that the doctors told me she wouldn’t live unless you came back from space immediately. I didn’t dare ask you to come back—I couldn’t do that to my own brother—and so I had the robot double made. I told her that you were back, that your flight had been called off or something like that, and she accepted it.”
“I borrowed, and I had a little put away. Back then I was thinking of marrying, and I’d saved for it. But it was my happiness against yours and Mother’s, so I couldn’t—you know, Paul. The girl married someone else. She’s happy too.”
“I see,” Paul said. He sank into one of the deep, soft chairs and stared at the motionless replica of himself next to his brother. “So all these years she’s thought I was right here. And that’s why Nancy Reilly said hello to me and the old woman next door talked about the weather. What happens—”
“Jim!” someone called from upstairs. “Who was that at the door, Jim?”
“You’d better come down here, mother,” Jim shouted. “I have a surprise for you!”
“What are you going to do?” Paul whispered. “Suppose she asks me something I don’t know? Shouldn’t we hide the robot?”
“No,” Jim said. “This is the only way. I want her to see both of you together, so I can tell her the truth after all these years of pretending. She’s well, now. She can take it.”
“But what happens after I go back? Will she still be willing to accept the robot?”
“I know what I’m doing,” Jim said. “Here she is.”
Paul looked up as his mother appeared. “Hello, mother.” He faced her, glad to see her again. She didn’t look much older; she had hardly changed at all. “I’m home.” She looked at him—studying the white scar on his forehead, he suspected—and then at the robot, then back at him, and finally at Jim.
“Who is this, Jim?” she asked. Her voice was as clear and as strong as it had ever been.
“This is Paul, mother. He’s been in space for six years. I bought this robot right after he left, so you wouldn’t miss him too much.”
The shadows of the old house seemed to wrap around the three of them bleakly. “Is this true, Paul?” she said in a tight voice.
“Yes, mother.” He walked around the room, getting familiar with the old things, with the smell of home and the warmth of home.
“You mean you’ve hoaxed me, Jim?” she demanded.
He nodded silently. “It was necessary.”
The old woman considered that for a moment, and then started to laugh. “You did the right thing.” She took Paul in her arms. “It’s good to have you back, even if I’ve had you all along. You look wonderful—except—except for—”
“This?” He indicated the scar. “Got the Space Cross for that. Natives on Deneb—resisted our attempts to trade. We showed them.”
“You were in a fight, Paul?”
“Yes, mother.” It was as if he had been in a schoolboy tussle, not a struggle with aliens half a shy away.
As he stood there, the memory came flooding vividly back.
He was in the midst of a sweeping field of bright red vegetation, with sweat pouring off his back and making his uniform cling. The hot rays of Deneb came down.
He was standing alone, watching the wiry green men advance. His heart was pounding, but he was unafraid. It was his guard duty, and he was going to stand it. Behind him was the gleaming bulk of the great ship, and its sleeping crew.
The Denebians came closer.
“Get back,” he cried roughly. They ignored him.
They were thin, humanoid men, with long, grotesque skulls and deepset, terrifying eyes. They came closer. He drew his gun and gestured with it.
Then suddenly one of them leaped, and Paul felt the nauseous alien smell near him, then around him. He jabbed upward with the gun, fired, and shoved. The corpse fell backward.
And then they were all around him, kicking, scratching, screaming furiously. Paul shouldered his way through them, took up his stand at the base of a towering drulla-tree, started firing into the gibbering horde. They dropped—but still kept coming.
Then the ammunition was gone, and more Denebians kept pouring from the forest. Laying about him viciously with his gunbutts, he crushed skulls and smashed alien faces with savage glee. They swarmed up and around him, and he felt a claw rip across his forehead. Blood streamed down into his eyes, and he was blind—but through the haze, he could see his crew-mates coming, at last, to his rescue.
When it was over, he was a hero. And he hadn’t been afraid—not half as afraid as he was back on Earth, in his own home, for no reason that he could discern. A sinister atmosphere hung over the house, and it worried him. He didn’t like it. The situation made him uncomfortable.
He sat down on the staircase next to his mother, hooking one long leg over the other and pulling up his shiny Space Greys. “I have a two-day leave,” he told her.
“Fine, Paul,” she said quietly. “It’s good to have you even for a little while.”
He stood up and hugged her, gingerly, as if she were made of soap-bubbles.
“Come on. You must be hungry,” she said, heading toward the kitchen. Jim followed, smiling, while the robot stayed frozen in its corner. “You know, Paul,” she said, all these years I loved that machine like it was my own son. And I never knew the difference. Science is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Paul nodded uneasily. The substitute-idea was still too grotesque for him to take as lightly as she did.
“Where are you going when you ship out tomorrow?”
“Sirius first,” he said. “By overdrive. Then to Procyon, and back to Deneb for a little cleanup action, then on to Rigel for a while.” He glanced at Jim. Paul knew he was picturing those stars in his mind, seeing them by the light of his tarnished dreams. “Ought to be quite a brawl at Deneb,” he said. “Oh—I’m having a bunkmate of mine here for dinner tomorrow night before we go back. He’ll tell you about Deneb.”
“Paul?” She was looking at him intently, nervously.
“Yes, mother?”
She paused for a moment as if arranging her words. Then she said, “Paul, do you have to go back to space?”
“What?”
“I mean it, Paul. When you leave tomorrow, I’ll have only the robot again. I’ll know he’s not real. Anyway he’ll only be half of my son. I don’t want the little boy always; I want the man who’s been to space. Stay here with us. I’ll fix up your room the way you used to have it. All your books, your records, the desk arranged the old way, even that luminous bedspread you liked. Six years in space ought to be enough.”
Paul glared angrily at his brother. Why did Jim have to tell her the truth? Why not keep up the pretense? Did Jim do it deliberately, just to see me squirm? Maybe after all these years of self-sacrifice he wants to get back at me.
“I want you to give up space. I don’t want a robot substitute any more; I want my son.” Her clear blue eyes, still undimmed by age, were flecked with tears.
“You can’t ask that of me,” Paul said through tight lips. “It’s my life out there—I can’t give it up now and tie myself down on Earth. I’ve left Earth for good.”
“Stay here for me, Paul.”
He knotted his hands. “Not even for you. It’s not fair of you to ask me to give up everything just like that. Space is everything to me.”
“You’ll like it here, Paul. You’ll forget space in a month.” She was coaxing, wheedling, trying desperately to hold him back.
“I wish I hadn’t come home at all,” he said dully. He walked to the window. The sun was just beginning to drop in the sky, and the distant spaceport was painted a dull orange by the dying day. He looked at the silver-red ships with their noses pointed to the skies.
“Why do you want to tie me down? I don’t want you to suffer, but—”
“I know,” she said. “The same old story. You’ve always been selfish, Paul. You’ve let your brother make every sacrifice for you, and you’ve never really shown any gratitude. And you never wanted to obey me, either. My wishes meant nothing to you.”
He looked from one figure to the other in anguish. Why were they torturing him? Why had this whole homecoming been such a nightmare?
“I can’t let you do this to me,” he snapped. He walked toward the door and quickly strode through, passing the unconcerned robot, slamming the door hard.
He reached the porch, paused, and stared bitterly at the quiet small-town street, wondering why they were doing this to him.
It was harder to fight your mother than a whole world-full of green Denebians.
“If I had known this would happen, Paul—”
“Forget it, Jim.”
“I didn’t know—”
“Skip it, Jim.” Paul stared coldly at his brother. “I know why you did it,” he said after a moment. “You want me to stay here so you can go away somewhere, don’t you? You’re afraid to leave Mother alone with robot-sons, so you want to trap me into taking your place here. Well, no game. You’ve chosen your lot, and you’ve got it for keeps.”
“That’s not it at all,” Jim said. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to leave home. I can’t leave. I’ve bound myself hand and foot. I’ve lived here all my life; this house is like a shell to me by now. I’m thirty-five, Paul. I’m set in my ways now, and I can’t break out. I can’t tell you how much everything in this house means to me. Mother, the books, the furniture, even the robot, I can’t tell you.”
